Great Power Reclamation

In November in London, it gets dark earlier and earlier. By 4:30 pm, it's already gray outside the window.

Ye Guigen had just come out of the library when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and paused, stunned—it was Ye Feng.

His father rarely called him first. It wasn't that he didn't care, he was just too busy. Ye Feng's time was divided into minutes; someone was waiting for him at every moment, and every call had a purpose.

"Dad." Ye Guigen answered the phone, leaning against a pillar at the library entrance.

"What are you doing?" Ye Feng's voice came from across the ocean, calm and clear, without any unnecessary emotion.

"Just finished studying. Going to eat."

"Hmm." Ye Feng paused for a moment. "Did your grandfather tell you about Grandpa Yang?"

Ye Guigen was taken aback. "What's wrong with Grandpa Yang?"

“He came to New York last week. He talked to me about something.”

Ye Guigen's heart skipped a beat. Yang Geyong went to New York to find his father? These two didn't usually keep in touch. What could possibly be worth a seventy-year-old man making a special trip to the United States for?
"what's up?"

"He wanted Yang Chenglong to take over part of his business."

Ye Guigen gripped his phone, his mind racing. Yang Chenglong had never mentioned this to him before.

He only knew that Yang Geyong had a horse farm that raised Akhal-Teke horses, a sight to behold in the military reclamation city. But the "industry" Ye Feng mentioned was clearly not the horse farm.

"Does Grandpa Yang have businesses abroad?" Ye Guigen asked.

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. Ye Feng was probably choosing his words carefully.

"He has several oil fields in Central Asia. They're not big, but they're enough. There are also several pipelines and a refinery. All together, they can produce several million tons of crude oil a year."

Ye Guigen's breath hitched.

Millions of tons of crude oil. This isn't an "industry," it's an empire. Yang Geyong, that old man in the faded military overcoat, drinking salty milk tea, and riding horses every day, owns oil fields in Central Asia?
"How could he..." Ye Guigen didn't know what to ask.

"How did he accumulate all this?" Ye Feng finished the story for him. "Actually, your grandfather originally owned shares in these oil fields, but your grandfather Yang also owned shares in the Warrior Group."

"Later, for the development of the Warrior Group, your grandfather swapped shares with Yang Geyong. Your grandfather agreed without hesitation. After that, the Warrior Group only had shares held by the Ye family and the military reclamation city. As for the oil fields, your grandfather only kept shares in the two in Africa."

Ye Guigen leaned against the pillar, slowly slid down, and squatted on the ground.

"He has never told anyone these things?" Ye Guigen's voice was a little tense.

"You know your Grandpa Yang. He's not one to talk." Ye Feng's voice carried a hint of amusement.

"When he spoke to me, he was sitting across from me, wearing an old jacket and cloth shoes. He said:"

“‘Ye Feng, my assets aren’t huge, but they’re not insignificant either. I’m getting old and can’t manage them anymore. Jackie Chan is my only grandson, and I want him to take over. But he’s too young, only twenty, and doesn’t understand anything. I need to find someone to look after him.’”

"So he contacted you."

"Yes. He made me Yang Chenglong's 'guardian.' Not legally, but business-wise. To keep an eye on those oil fields for him, to make sure they weren't cheated or swallowed up by someone."

Ye Guigen squatted on the ground, looking at the gray sky.

He remembered many things. Why did Yang Geyong always urge Yang Chenglong to "study hard" every time he called?

Why was Yang Geyong willing to spend two million pounds to donate a scholarship to Yang Chenglong?
Why did Yang Geyong give Yang Wei five million yuan to build a platform without batting an eye?

It wasn't because he was a kind grandfather. It was because he was a super-rich man. Except this rich man wore a faded military overcoat, drank milk tea powder that cost only a few yuan a bag, and lived in an old house in the military reclamation city.

"Dad," Ye Guigen stood up, "how much is Grandpa Yang's oil field worth?"

Ye Feng paused for a moment.

"It's hard to say. The valuation of oil assets depends on oil prices. At current prices, it's probably... three to five billion US dollars."

Ye Guigen took a deep breath.

"Does Yang Chenglong know about this?"

"I don't know. Your Grandpa Yang didn't tell him."

Why didn't you tell?

"Because he didn't want Jackie Chan to think he was a third-generation rich kid."

Ye Feng said, "He wants Jackie Chan to make his own way. If he succeeds, all these assets will be his. If he doesn't succeed, these assets will be donated."

Ye Guigen was taken aback. "You donated?"

"Yes. Donate it to the Production and Construction Corps. Your Grandpa Yang's exact words were: 'These things of mine were earned by Ye Yuze and me in the Gobi Desert. When we can't earn them anymore, we'll return them to the Gobi Desert.'"

Ye Guigen remained silent for a long time.

“Dad,” he finally said, “what do you want me to do by telling me all this?”

"You don't need to do anything," Ye Feng said. "I'm just letting you know. Your Grandpa Yang has chosen you to be Yang Chenglong's brother. He hopes you two will support each other."

“I know,” Ye Guigen said. “I know it even without him telling me.”

"Hmm." Ye Feng paused for a moment. "There's one more thing."

"what?"

"Your great-grandfather's health hasn't been very good lately."

Ye Guigen's heart clenched suddenly. "What's wrong?"

“It’s nothing serious. I’m just getting old. I’ll be eighty soon, I have high blood pressure, and my knees aren’t doing well either. Your grandfather called me and said he’s been a little out of breath when he walks lately.”

Ye Guigen held his phone, his knuckles turning white.

“Don’t worry,” Ye Feng said. “I’ve arranged for the best doctor to come. But if you have time, come back and visit him during the winter break.”

"I will."

After hanging up the phone, Ye Guigen squatted on the spot for a long time.

It was completely dark. The streetlights came on, their orange glow casting a long shadow on him. He thought of his great-grandfather's study, the photos on the bookshelves, and his grandfather sitting in his chair, drinking tea.

I'm seventy-nine.

He stood up and sent a message to Yang Chenglong.

"Where are you?"

"The dorm. What's wrong?"

"I'm coming to find you."

Ten minutes later, Ye Guigen arrived at Yang Chenglong's dormitory. When Yang Chenglong opened the door, he was holding a book called "Corporate Finance," the pages of which were covered with colorful labels.

"What's wrong?" Yang Chenglong looked at him and frowned. "You don't look well."

Ye Guigen went inside and sat down in a chair. Hans wasn't there, and the dormitory was quiet.

“Jackie Chan,” he said, “did your grandfather ever mention to you that he had businesses overseas?”

Yang Chenglong was taken aback. "What industry?"

Ye Guigen looked at him and realized one thing—Yang Chenglong really knew nothing.

"Sit down," Ye Guigen said.

Yang Chenglong sat down and placed the book on the table.

Ye Guigen repeated exactly what Ye Feng had said.

Oil fields in Central Asia and Africa, with an annual output of several million tons and a value of three to five billion US dollars, Yang Geyong asked Ye Feng to be his guardian, and there was that saying, "If you can't make it, just donate it."

After listening, Yang Chenglong remained silent for a full minute.

His expression didn't change much, but his lips were pursed tightly, and his fingers tapped lightly on his knees—a habit he had when he was nervous.

“He never told me that.” Yang Chenglong’s voice was a little hoarse.

“He knew you would react this way,” Ye Guigen said, “which is why he didn’t tell you.”

“I’m not…” Yang Chenglong stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Ye Guigen. “I’m not angry. I’m just… I don’t know how to say it.”

Do you think he's hiding something from you?

“No.” Yang Chenglong turned around. “I just feel that he carried so much on his own, and I knew nothing about it. He was out there drilling wells, extracting oil, and dealing with all sorts of people, while I was studying calculus in London. He’s over sixty and still thinking about how to pass on his family’s wealth to me. I don’t even know what he has.”

Ye Guigen stood up and walked up to him.

“Jackie Chan, your grandfather contacted my dad not because he didn’t trust you, but because he didn’t want you to shoulder these responsibilities too early.”

"He wants you to study first, to do what you like. 'Pegasus' is what you like, so do 'Pegasus' first. There's no rush with the oil field."

Yang Chenglong looked at him, his eyes a little red.

"Ultimately, tell me, do I deserve it?"

"What should I pair it with?"

“It matches these things for him.”

Ye Guigen reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

Whether you are worthy or not is not up to you or me to decide. It is up to your grandfather. If he thinks you are worthy, then you are worthy.

Yang Chenglong lowered his head and remained silent for a long time.

Then he looked up and took a deep breath.

"To get back to my roots, I need to go to Central Asia."

"Now?"

"During winter break, I'm going to visit those oil fields. Not to take over, but to see for myself what my grandfather actually did."

Ye Guigen thought for a moment. "Okay. I'll go with you."

You don't need to—

“I didn’t go because of you,” Ye Guigen said. “I went because of Grandpa Yang. He was my grandfather’s old brother, and the successor he chose was my brother. It was only right that I went to see him.”

Yang Chenglong looked at him and smiled. It was a faint smile, but it was genuine.

"Thank you."

"No need to thank me. Just treat me to some hand-grabbed rice."

"Okay. Large portion."

The two left the dormitory and headed towards XJ Restaurant. The London night air was chilly in November, but they walked quickly, their bodies radiating warmth.

“Back to our roots,” Yang Chenglong said as they walked, “You know, my grandfather owned oil fields overseas, did he know that?”

“I know,” Ye Guigen said. “Those two have never been separated.”

"Does your grandfather own any businesses overseas?"

Ye Guigen thought for a moment. "I don't know. There probably is. But my dad never told me."

"Didn't your dad tell you?"

“He felt the time wasn’t right,” Ye Guigen said. “Just like your grandfather. They both felt we were still too young.”

Yang Chenglong paused for a moment.

"Ultimately, tell me, when will we be considered 'old enough'?"

Ye Guigen thought about it.

"Probably when we stop asking this question."

Yang Chenglong paused for a moment, then laughed.

"You're starting to sound more and more like your grandfather."

"You're starting to sound more and more like your grandfather."

The two walked to the restaurant entrance and went inside.

"Boss, two bowls of hand-grabbed rice. Large portions."

"Alright! Have a seat!"

Outside the window, the London night wind howled. But inside the restaurant, it was warm, the lights were bright, and the aroma of hand-pulled noodles filled the entire room.

The two young people sat together, eating noodles and talking, just like any other twenty-year-old.

But they knew in their hearts that something had changed.

It hasn't gotten worse, it's gotten heavier.

New York, Manhattan.

Ye Feng stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in his office, looking at the mouth of the Hudson River.

November in New York was already cold, and the wind blowing from the river carried a salty smell, but the windows of his office were tightly closed, and the central air conditioning maintained a constant temperature of 23 degrees Celsius.

He was holding a cup of coffee, which had already gone cold.

Susie Walton sat on the sofa, flipping through a document. Today she was wearing a gray suit dress, her hair was up, and she wore a pair of small pearl earrings.

A 45-year-old woman who takes good care of herself looks 35.

"The Senate hearing is next week," Susie said without looking up. "Chen Hansheng has already spoken to you and said he won't make things difficult for you. But you should be prepared that someone will bring up the Warrior Group's shareholding structure."

Ye Feng turned around and walked back to his desk to sit down.

“Let them talk.” His voice was calm. “I own 51% of Warrior Group. It operates independently, and its financial statements are audited annually. They can’t find anything wrong with it.”

“Not finding fault doesn’t mean you won’t find fault.” Susie put down the file and looked at him. “You know who’s behind this.”

Ye Feng certainly knew.

Several hedge funds on War Street, plus a few established Wall Street families envious of the growth of their sister group.

They didn't care whether the Warrior Group's shareholding structure was legal; what they cared about was Ye Feng simultaneously leading two giants—

One company is in China, and the other is in the United States—will this "cross-border" relationship affect their interests?

"What did the Chen family say?" Ye Feng asked.

Susie turned a page of the document. "The Fourth Master will be giving a speech in the Senate next week on the topic of 'Maintaining Market Fairness and Opposing Malicious Short Selling'."

"He has already sent me a draft of his speech, which includes a section that directly criticizes hedge funds by name."

"Where is William Ye?"

“Wharton Capital has already been accumulating shares in the market. They’ve bought about three percent of Brothers Group’s stock over the past month.”

Ye Feng nodded.

The connection between Ye Weilian and the Ye family can be traced back to Ye Yuze's generation. Fourth Master is Ye Yuze's fourth younger brother. He followed Ye Yuze out of the military reclamation city, but never returned to China, choosing instead to stay and develop his career in the United States.

Over the decades, he rose from city councilor to state legislator, and from state legislator to senator, and is now a leading candidate for Senate President.

William Ye is the son of Fourth Master and a partner at Wharton Capital. He makes legitimate investments, not speculations.

When Brothers Group was shorted, William Ye acted immediately, accumulating shares at low prices, which helped Ye Feng and also made a profit for himself.

“There’s one more thing,” Susie said. “Someone from the Liu Group has been in contact with short-selling funds.”

Ye Feng's brow twitched. "Liu Zixuan?"

"It wasn't him. It was his father. Boss Liu wasn't directly involved, but his people had been in contact with those funds. We don't know the specifics of what they discussed."

Ye Feng picked up his now-cold coffee and took a sip.

“Mr. Liu is a smart man,” he said. “He won’t take sides at this time. He’s probably just contacting those funds to see which way the wind is blowing.”

"So how will you deal with it?"

"I won't respond." Ye Feng put down his cup. "I have no direct conflict with him. He follows his own lead, and I do my own thing. We keep to ourselves."

Susie closed the file, stood up, and walked to the window.

“Ye Feng,” she said, “you’re always like this. When others are plotting against you, you just say, ‘We’ll keep to ourselves.’”

“It’s not that they won’t commit a crime.” Ye Feng also stood up and walked to her side. “The time hasn’t come yet. They’re just testing the waters right now; they’re not really going to make a move.”

"When they're testing you, you don't need to react. Wait until they actually make a move, then you can react; one move will suffice."

Susie turned to look at him.

"You and your father look very alike."

How is it similar?

“You all have patience,” Susie said. “Your Ye family has no shortage of money or power, but what you have no shortage of is patience.”

Ye Feng didn't speak. He looked out the window at the Hudson River, where several cargo ships were slowly passing by, leaving long white trails in their wake.

"Have you contacted Gui Gen recently?" Susie asked.

"I made a phone call."

"How is he?" "He's doing alright. He's studying in London and started his own foundation to invest in agricultural projects in Africa."

Susie smiled. "Like you. You were also involved in funds when you were twenty."

“Unlike me,” Ye Feng said. “When I was twenty, I started a fund to make money. He started a fund to help people.”

Susie looked at him, her eyes holding a meaningful look.

"You've become arrogant."

Ye Feng did not deny it.

“He’s more successful than me,” he said. “That’s what my father said.”

Susie walked over to him, reached out, and gently touched the back of his hand.

“Your father is right.”

Ye Feng neither withdrew his hand nor pulled it back. He simply stood there, letting Susie's hand rest on the back of his. Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting shadows on the two of them.

“Susie,” he said, “thank you.”

"What are you thanking me for?"

Thank you for always being there.

Susie withdrew her hand and smiled.

Where else can I go?

Ye Feng turned around, walked back to his desk, and picked up a document.

"Help me prepare for next week's hearing. Focus on the employment contribution of the Brother Group."

“We have 27,000 employees in the United States, 70 percent of whom are U.S. citizens. This figure is more convincing than any explanation of equity structure.”

Susie nodded and picked up her bag.

"I'll be going now. There's a fundraising dinner tonight."

Don't overwork yourself.

Susie walked to the door and turned around.

"Ye Feng, when did you learn to care about people?"

Ye Feng didn't answer, but just smiled slightly.

Susie left. The office fell silent.

Ye Feng sat in the chair, looking out the window.

He thought of Ye Yuze. He remembered his father's words: "Your situation is more difficult than mine. I started from scratch, while you have to both preserve what you have and expand upon it."

We must not only defend our position, but also expand our reach.

He picked up his phone and sent a message to Ye Guigen.

"Study hard. Don't worry about things at home."

The reply came quickly. "Okay. Dad, you too. Don't overwork yourself."

Ye Feng looked at the line of text and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

He put his phone on the table and picked up the next document.

Outside the window, the Hudson River flows quietly.

Winter was coming to New York, but he wasn't afraid of the cold. The Ye family all had fire in their hearts.

In early December, London experienced its first heavy snowfall.

Ye Guigen sat in the classroom, staring blankly at the snowflakes outside the window. Professor Sachs was lecturing on infrastructure development in Africa, and he mentioned ports.

"Most of the ports in Africa are controlled by European and Chinese companies."

Professor Sachs drew a map of Africa on the blackboard. “The throughput of ports like Mombasa, Dar es Salaam, Lagos, and Durban determines the lifeline of African trade. Whoever controls the ports controls Africa’s imports and exports.”

A thought suddenly flashed through Ye Guigen's mind.

port.

He remembered something. Last year in North Africa, he heard from locals that China was building a base in Djibouti.

It wasn't for strategic reasons, but for escort—to protect merchant ships in the Gulf of Aden. Those merchant ships, loaded with Chinese goods, traveled from Asia to Europe, passed through the Suez Canal, and unloaded in the Mediterranean.

But China's goods didn't just travel through the Suez Canal. There was another route—sea transport.

Starting from ports in China, passing through the South China Sea and the Indian Ocean, to the Cape of Good Hope in Africa, and then to Europe, this route is longer, but safer and less affected by geopolitics.

The key to this route is the port.

He recalled a quote from Ye Feng: "For China to go global, it needs two things—ports and shipping rights. Without ports, ships can't dock. Without shipping rights, once a ship is out at sea, it belongs to someone else."

He didn't pay much attention to it at the time. Now that I think about it, there's a lot more to that statement than meets the eye.

After class, Ye Guigen didn't go back to his dorm; instead, he went to the library. He found a corner to sit down, turned on his computer, and started searching.

Chinese ports overseas.

He searched for a long time, and the more he searched, the more interesting it became. The port of Piraeus in Greece is 51% owned by China COSCO Shipping Corporation Limited.

Hambantota Port in Sri Lanka, leased for 99 years.

Gwadar Port in Pakistan is operated by China Fortune Land Development Co., Ltd. China Fortune Land Development Co., Ltd. also holds a stake in the Port of Djibouti. Other ports include Kyaukpyu Port in Myanmar, Kribi Port in Cameroon, and Conakry Port in Guinea…

A net is slowly being spread out.

Ye Guigen leaned back in his chair, looking at the locations of the ports on the screen, an idea slowly taking shape in his mind.

It's not that he can't do it now. He's only twenty years old and has only a two million US dollar fund, which isn't even enough to buy a gatehouse at a port.

But you can learn from it. You can watch it. You can design it.

He sent Ye Feng a message.

"Dad, I'd like to learn about China's port network overseas. Do you have any books or reports you could recommend?"

The reply came quickly. "Why are you suddenly interested in this?"

"Professor Sachs talked about African ports in class today. I remembered what you said last time."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Then Ye Feng sent a long message.

“China Ocean Shipping Group publishes a Global Port Development Report every year, which contains detailed data and analysis.”

"Also, I recommend a book to you—'Who Controls the Oceans, Controls the World.' The author is a US maritime strategy expert. After reading this book, you'll have a general idea."

Ye Guigen replied with "Received".

Then he sent another message: "Dad, do you think the port sector is worth paying attention to in the long term?"

The response was a bit slow this time.

“It’s worth it. But your priority right now is your studies. There’s no rush with the port matter. If you want to pursue it after you graduate, I’ll support you.”

Looking at those words, Ye Guigen felt a little more at ease.

No rush. Yes, no rush. There's still a long road ahead.

In mid-December, the final exams ended.

Yang Chenglong booked a flight to Central Asia. Ye Guigen also booked the same flight.

The two flew from London to Astana, transferred at the airport, and then flew for another two and a half hours to Aktau—a small town on the Caspian Sea.

Yang Geyong's oil field is located in the desert 200 kilometers south of Aktau.

They were picked up by a Kazakh man in his fifties named Nurlan. He was wearing an old leather jacket, his face roughened by the wind and sand, but his eyes were bright.

"Are you Yang Geyong's grandsons?" he asked in accented English.

“I am his grandson,” Yang Chenglong said. “This is my brother.”

Nurlan looked them over for a moment and nodded.

"Get in the car. It's a long way."

The car was an old Toyota SUV, and we drove for three hours on the desert highway. The scenery outside the window changed from the city to the Gobi Desert, and then from the Gobi Desert to the desert.

The sky was blue, the ground was yellow, and the horizon was a straight line that divided the sky and the earth in two.

Yang Chenglong looked out the window without saying a word.

Ye Guigen knew what he was thinking. He was thinking of Yang Geyong—that old man in his sixties who, back then, started from scratch in this very desert and built a multi-billion dollar empire.

The car finally arrived at the oil field.

Although it's called an oil field, it's really just a small industrial area. A few prefabricated houses, a few oil storage tanks, and a few oil pumps are working at a leisurely pace, like a group of tireless iron horses.

Nurlan led them into a prefabricated house. Inside was an office, small but very clean. A map of the oil field and several photos hung on the wall.

The photo shows Yang Geyong and Ye Yuze. They were very young then, wearing work clothes and safety helmets, standing in front of the oil pumping unit, smiling happily.

Yang Chenglong stood in front of those photos and looked at them for a long time.

“Uncle Nurlan,” he said, “how did my grandfather come to be here?”

Nurlan thought for a moment, then said in broken English, “1994. It was his first time here. He took the train from WLMQ to Almaty, a journey of three days and three nights.”

"Then he changed cars and drove for another two days. When he got here, there was nothing there. Desert, rocks, camel thorns. He stood there for an hour, then said, 'Drill a well here.'"

Nurlan smiled.

“We all thought he was crazy. The geologists said there was no oil in this place. But he didn't believe it. He said, ‘I served in the army for thirty years and built roads for thirty years. Where the geologists said there were no roads, I built roads. It's the same here.’”

"And then?" Yang Chenglong asked.

"Then he drilled the first well. No oil. The second well. No oil. The third, the fourth, the fifth... In the first five years, he drilled more than a dozen wells, but none of them yielded oil. He spent twenty million US dollars and didn't find anything."

Nurlan pointed to a photograph on the wall. In the photograph, Yang Geyong was standing on a drilling platform, his face covered in oil, but laughing loudly.

"In the sixth year, we drilled the eleventh well. We reached a depth of one thousand meters, but still no oil. The foreman said we should give up. Yang Geyong said, 'Drill another one hundred meters.' When we reached a depth of one thousand and fifty meters, the oil came out."

Nurlan stretched out his hand and made a gesture of gushing out.

"It sprayed twenty meters high. We were all watching from the side, and we all cried. Yang Geyong didn't cry. He stood there, watching the oil spray out, and said, 'I told you, there was oil.'"

The prefab house was quiet for a few seconds.

Yang Chenglong lowered his head and looked at his hands.

“Uncle Nurlan,” he said, “how long has my grandfather been here?”

"It took more than ten years in total. Later, my health deteriorated, so I handed it over to someone else to take care of."

But he comes every year. He came last year too; he was seventy-four years old, and it took him ten hours by plane and then four hours by car. When he arrived, the first thing he did wasn't to rest, but to go to the well site.

Yang Chenglong's eyes reddened.

Ye Guigen stood behind him without saying a word, but simply placed his hand on his shoulder and patted it gently.

That night, the two of them stayed in the oilfield's dormitory. The prefabricated house wasn't soundproof, and the wind outside howled like wolves.

Yang Chenglong lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Back to the roots,” he said, “are you asleep?”

"No."

"Tell me, how did our grandfathers survive in this desert?"

Ye Guigen thought about it.

"He has something on his mind."

"what's up?"

"They probably thought they couldn't leave empty-handed. Since they were already here, they had to leave something behind."

Yang Chenglong remained silent for a while.

“They left these oil fields behind,” he said. “They left billions of dollars behind.”

“No,” Ye Guigen said. “What he left behind wasn’t money.”

"what is that?"

“It’s a place,” Ye Guigen said. “A place you can come to in the future. Once you come, you’ll know how he got here. Once you know, you won’t go astray.”

Yang Chenglong did not speak again.

Outside the window, the desert wind howled. But inside the prefab house, the two of them listened to the wind and felt a sense of peace.

The next day, Nurlan took them to the well site.

The oil pumps were working at a steady pace, going up and down rhythmically. Yang Chenglong walked up to one of the pumps, reached out, and touched the cold iron arm.

“Uncle Nurlan,” he said, “my grandfather said these machines are like what?”

Nurlan thought for a moment.

He said it's like the Akhal-Teke horse. It doesn't eat grass or drink water, but it can run its whole life.

Yang Chenglong smiled.

He took out his phone and sent a message to Yang Geyong.

"Grandpa, I'm in Aktau. I saw your oil field. The pumping units are like Akhal-Teke horses, they don't need grass or water, they can run for a lifetime."

The reply came very quickly.

"Who told you to go?"

"I wanted to come here myself."

There was a moment of silence. Then Yang Geyong sent a voice message. Yang Chenglong opened and listened to it.

The old man coughed twice, then said, "Go back after you're done. Don't be late for class. It's cold there, wear more clothes."

Yang Chenglong listened to it twice.

He put his phone away and looked at the distant desert. The sky was blue, the ground was yellow, and the horizon was a straight line.

"Let's go," he said to Ye Guigen. "Let's go back."

The two got into the car and drove towards Aktau.

The car was driving on the desert highway, with an endless expanse of wasteland outside the window. Ye Guigen looked out the window and suddenly said something.

"Jackie Chan, what do you think might be hidden beneath these deserts?"

Yang Chenglong thought for a moment. "I don't know."

“I guess there’s still oil. Lots of oil,” Ye Guigen said. “But the oil will eventually run out. And then what? What can be done with this desert?”

Yang Chenglong looked at him. "What do you want to say?"

Ye Guigen turned his head and looked out the window.

“I want to say that we can’t just keep digging for oil. Once we’ve extracted it all, that’s it. We have to do something else. Plant something in this desert. Not trees, but something else.”

"for example?"

“For example, ports,” Ye Guigen said. “China needs ports to go global. The Caspian Sea is an inland sea, but through the Volga River, it can be connected to the Black Sea and then to the Mediterranean Sea.”

"If a port could be built on the shore of the Caspian Sea, goods from China could travel from the northern border, through Central Asia, to the Caspian Sea, and then to Europe. It would be faster than sea transport and cheaper than land transport."

Yang Chenglong remained silent for a while.

When did you come up with these thoughts?

“During class,” Ye Guigen said, “Professor Sachs talked about ports in Africa, and I thought of the Caspian Sea. There are no ports here, at least no major ports. If there were, it would connect China and Europe.”

"How much will that cost?"

Ye Guigen smiled. "A lot of money. We don't have any right now."

"What should I do?"

"No rush," Ye Guigen said. "The road ahead is long. Take it slow."

The car continued driving on the desert highway. The scenery outside the window remained unchanged—the sky was blue, the land was yellow, and the horizon was a straight line.

But the two young men sitting in the car already had a new idea in their minds.

That line begins in China, passes through northern Xinjiang, through Stan, through the Caspian Sea, through the Black Sea, and extends all the way to Europe.

(To be continued) (End of this chapter)